


Tchaikovsky; Piano Concerto No. 1, in B-flat minor

by beyoncesshoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 6-Year-Old Charlie Bradbury, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Child Death, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Bela Talbot/Dean Winchester, Implied Self-Hatred, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Bela Talbot, Minor Charlie Bradbury, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Minor Sam Winchester, Modern Era, No Sex, POV Dean Winchester, Pianist Cas, Unhappy Dean, Unhappy Ending, brief description of gore, description of child death, minor fluff, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7025071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyoncesshoe/pseuds/beyoncesshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Prompt by mylittlecassbutt on tumblr!) Pianist!Cas and Dean fall in love. </p><p>"The first few notes pour in and Dean sits at the kitchen table with his eyes closed. Cas is so good at playing, and Dean is damn proud. Cas pours his heart and soul into every note he plays, and Dean hasn’t ever heard him mess up once. They talked about it for awhile, how Cas could really do something with this and go places, but Cas had only kissed Dean and said that everything he needed was right where they are (and Dean did not choke up, did not)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tchaikovsky; Piano Concerto No. 1, in B-flat minor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Thank you, mylittlecassbutt, for letting me write this! Of course my first fic for this fandom is angst lmaoooo

**_____**

**:::**

Seven years ago, it began with Tchaikovsky, Piano Concerto No. 1, in B-flat minor.

Now, Dean didn’t know jack-shit about Tchai-whatever-the-fuck-it’s-pronounced, or any other old ass dude who looked like they slammed their faces into their pieces and called it music, and alright, honestly, maybe he _had_ heard a little about Beethoven but it wasn’t the man who came to mind first; it was the giant St. Bernard who slobbered all over the movie screen.

Point being, he didn’t really give a shit. Swing him some Asia and Metallica, maybe even Alice In Chains, yeah, that was definitely more like it. He definitely gave a shit there.

Dean decided back then that suddenly being interested in classical music and its composers had nothing to do with the music itself, but all about the man hunched over the piano on the opposite side of the room, brows furrowed and fingers long and swift.

It was a fancy party. One with historical artifacts encased and surrounded with security every given corner, stuff that once again, Dean didn’t care for, but Sam did, so Dean was here. Because _“They have the hand of a pirate from the Espírito Santo, Dean! The Hand of Glory!”_ so, there’s that.

Dean felt ridiculous in the suit he wore, felt like he had stuck out like a sore thumb, an obvious grease smudge on white silk as he trailed behind Sammy and his date, his own clinging absent-mindly to his arm.

His date, as smoking as she was, was a royal piss off and every time she spoke Dean wanted nothing more than to eat a bullet, but hey, she didn’t like him much either so it made the promise of hot-angry sex a big possibility. A possibility she put on the platter, so yeah.

Sam liked her, Jess, not so much. Jess, in fact, gave Dean the “are-you-fucking-kidding-me” look whenever Bela said something that visibly pissed Dean off, because Jess is cool and doesn’t like anyone messing with her family so they had a sort of annoy-Bela-tag-team going on and Sam was completely unaware. Whether by choice or he really was that blind, Dean wasn’t sure. But he had let them get away with it even though Bela was his friend (and had introduced them).

“No. 1.” Bela had said when Dean and her stood to the side, watching Sam and Jess sway on the dance floor. Dean had been admiring how happy his brother was, Jess, too. He loved them both, and he was so damn happy that they had each other, even if they drug him along to their stupid fancy parties and wine tasting get-togethers.

“Huh?”

“The piece.” Bela, rolled her eyes. “Tchaikovsky?”

“Uh,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “Gesundheit?”

“No, you animal. That man,” she gestured to the man drawn over the piano. “He’s playing a piece I love, what a champ. He looks quite dapper.”

“Mm.” Dean had said, not really interested.

But Bela had dragged him over there anyways, right until Dean was crowded on the end of piano, the sound of the keys playing harshly, yet quite beautifully, in his ears. Bela had turned to talk to some other folks who came to listen to the man playing magic, which was good, considering Dean couldn’t give her a lick of attention for the life of him.

Because of course, the hottest man Dean had ever seen in his uneventful life was sitting before him. All rough with a sense of other-worldliness about him. He had seen fingers first, long and smooth, blurring across the keyboard with preciseness and certainty. Dean had instantly felt a lurch in his stomach, thoughts going unholy with what those fingers could do, when he got an eyeful of messy hair, chapped lips, and blue, blue eyes.

And wasn’t he a fucking sap for feeling like he could stare into them for hours. Yeah, way to go Dean (he would rather be buried alive than ever admit out loud to what he had thought).

Shit. The guy was… enthralling? Yeah. Fancy ass word for an obvious diamond on the bronze platter. Dean suddenly wasn’t sure he had been so in-lust with anyone before in his life.

God fucking damn it.

Because he had Bela with him and as much as she had pissed him off, he was not just going to leave her in the dust because that sucks and Dean wasn’t like that. So Bela. Think Bela. He had definitely _not_ beenthinking about climbing on the dude’s lap and asking him to play every single note from every piece of fucking whatever existed in the classical world right into his skin.

He had _not_.

But of course, Bela had seemed to think otherwise. “Careful, how unfortunate it would be for you to pop it right here?”

Of course she had declared it loud and proud, enough that the man playing had spared a confused glance at them both from his seat before continuing on (which Dean, of course, _had not_ felt his heart drop to his stomach when green met blue when they held eye contact for a good 8 seconds, had not). Enough that Dean was red in the cheeks from both the statement and the stare of the stranger, swinging on Bella with venom on his tongue.

“I-”

“Oh, save it.”

“Sweetheart, I swear-”

“Yes yes, you’ll do unspeakable things to me if I so much as speak about you undressing another man in your mind.” Dean scowled at her, though he was grateful she had lowered her voice. Bela had patted his cheek and didn’t so much as blink when he jerked away. “Do me a favor, will you? Tell Sam I’ll see him in class, I’m taking an early flight, and spare Jess a kiss.” She turned to look at a man standing in the doorway, nudging Dean to look as well. “Don’t think I’m surprised, or that I’m even the least bit put down that your eye has wandered somewhere else.” She winked at him, saying “I came with a back-up.” as she sauntered off to the man awaiting her.

Blinking, somewhat surprised, but grateful for the outcome. Dean had been very fucking thankful for Bela fucking Talbot that night. Something he never thought he would be.

To this day, he would forever be thankful for that fucking woman.

It was an opportunity, one that Dean wasn’t sure he was ever going to get but was going to seize like a slippery beer on a low-budget. Because _fuck_ this guy was doing incredible things on the piano and color Dean impressed. He watched the man’s jaw work as the music became more intense, and Dean wondered what it would be like to kiss his lips up the lining.

He had leaned back on the piano, watching the man trail across the keys-- like it was his bitch, Dean thought.

Dean had bottomed once or twice, and only in the gracious hands of Rhonda Hurley. Now, Dean had this on his mind only because the way this man owned the piano. He definitely wasn’t going to kneel for Dean Winchester. So, if things went well, and the man didn’t end up straight and punching Dean in the nose, Dean was more than fucking ready to lay himself down just like the piano and let this man play him however he wanted because, once again, _fuck_.

Dean had wondered what Bela had called this? Chai something? Number one?

But thank fuck, Sam had come up to him just then, grinning like the idiot he is. “Where’s Jess?”

“In the restroom. I came to check on you two. Where’s Bela?”

“M.I.A.” Dean shrugged, not meeting Sam’s eye. “You know what’s playing?”

Sam frowned. “Did she-”

“Come on, Sammy, help the tasteless. This is.. Chai? Numero uno?”

Sam blinked. “Tchaikovsky?”

Dean clapped his hands together before gripping Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

“But Dean-”

“She had to head out, quit your worrying.”

Sam, unsatisfied with the answer, only frowned further, but let it go. “Why are you interested in what’s playing?”

“‘Dunno. Call it… a change of taste. Widening my view. Expanding my world.”

“Dean, you hate this stuff.”

“And I hate suits, and here we are.” Dean had tried his hardest not to look at the man playing, not to look as the notes got more aggressive. He did, he really did, but the man had his bottom lip between his teeth, and the peak of pink and the small sweat beads that formed on the man’s forehead had been distracting. Sue him, Dean got distracted easy. And the music was incredible, Dean was impressed with how he held the notes so well, how it all flew together.

So of course, Sammy, being the nosey shit he is, followed Dean’s line of eye and gave him a grin that just screamed he _knew_ what Dean had been thinking. “So-”

“Shut it, Samantha.”

Sam only smirked. “Tchaikovsky, Piano Concerto No. 1,” He turned his ear. “B-flat minor.”

Dean grunted, cheeks pinkening again. “Shut up.”

Laughter, a clap on the shoulder. “I would wish you good luck, but… I like to keep my limbs intact.” And he whisked off, off to find Jess and no doubt tell her exactly what Dean was _totally not_ thinking about doing, which was letting this guy screw him into next week.

Shit. Son of a bitch.

Dean wasn’t too open about letting the world know of his sexual preferences, hell, only reason Sam knew he was bi was because he had the unfortunate chance a few years ago of coming home from school early to see Dean, quite literally, balls deep in old friend Benny. Awkward as _fuck_. At least Sam had been cool with the… attraction. Even if Sam couldn’t look Benny in the eye anymore, he had still actively tried to hang with him and Dean and even tried to have a heart-to-heart about how he still loved and accepted Dean (which Dean had shut down as soon as 14-year-old Sammy had sat him down with this deep look of understanding and pride, yeah, sweet, but no).

So, there Dean had stood, a mantra of _“Tchaikovsky, Piano Concerto No. 1, B-flat minor”_ in his mind and trying to subtly steal glances over the piano and mentally clapping himself on the back when he decided he was doing a good job at keeping low-key. Maybe he could try one of those pick-up lines he heard from that musical show Sam loved so much, that could work. Something like that, yeah. He could do this.

And of _course_ , yet again, Dean was wrong about that.

For when that piece of eternity ended and Dean had felt warm and nervous as shit because he wasn’t exactly sure how to flirt with a guy, especially one this fucking good looking and talented (maybe he should have watched a gay porno sometime in his life, at least to get a fucking hint on how he’s suppose to approach a man with intent of sex-- with a man that you already don’t know), the room had clapped loudly, impressed beyond belief and the man had simply moved for another to take his place with a quick bow, and aimed his sights right on Dean.

Well, shit on a stick.

A long, pointy stick, that speared right through Dean’s nerves.

Dean was screwed. This guy _had_ to know Dean had been eye-fucking him for the last hour. Dean had no idea what was going to happen and in honesty, he didn’t want to find out, because this guy’s face had been completely unemotional and for fucks sake- Dean was desperate for a read on him as he approached.

But of course, of fucking course, the man had struck eye contact. Soul reading eye contact, eyes that peered right fucking through Dean and seeing _everything_ and he felt so naked and vulnerable and holy shit-

The guy was standing right in front of him. Right in his personal space, a few inches shorter than Dean. And then, and only then, Dean had been able to break eye contact to steal a glance at his lips for a second, before he felt the pull of blue and he was once again a deer in headlights.

So, Dean could work with this.

“Tchaikovsky, Piano Concerto No. 1.” He had blurted.

The guy had just tilt his head at Dean, eyes narrowed.

Shit.

Shit, _shit_.

Have it written in stone, Dean could not, for the life of him, be suave and smooth when attempting to woo the same gender.

So,

“...B-flat major.” Dean finished lamely, clearing his throat.

And the man had lit up, like a fucking socket being plugged in and lighting the whole town square of New York city. A grin tugged the corner of his lips, tongue reaching out to wet them, where Dean’s eyes followed.

“B-flat minor.” The man said.

“What?” Dean said unintelligently, numbed by how deep this man’s voice was, holy shit...

The man’s grin grew. “I was playing minor. You enjoy Tchaikovsky? Or someone else, perhaps Shostakovich or Chopin? You look like you might prefer Chopin.”

“Uh,” Dean said.

The man blinked.

“Uh,” he said again.

Then,

“...Gesundheit?” And Dean had never hated himself more in his entire fucking life than before that moment. _Jesus Christ_.

And the man had thrown his head back and _laughed_. An honest to god laugh, throat bared and a unchecked chuckle that creased the corners in his eyes. Eyes that were swimming with lights, lights that shined at _Dean_.

The man was fucking _beautiful_.

Dean had begun to laugh too, because the laugh was at that moment decided as one of his favorite sounds he’s ever heard and call him a fucking pansy or whatever, because it was, and he wouldn’t mind to hear it again. It was contagious, intoxicating.

Cheeks warm and heart beating frantically in his chest, laughter dying down, Dean began to feel stupid, because this guy actually probably thought he was a fucking idiot and now he felt like a bigger idiot for thinking the guy _wasn’t_ laughing at him and isn’t it just a fucking pie on plate-

So Dean had been completely taken by surprise when the man completely breached his personal bubble even more to stretch on his toes, chests pressing together and lips skimming Dean’s earlobe and shit Dean was so proud of himself for not doing something embarrassing, like, moan.

“I am Castiel.” He snuck his hand to grip at Dean’s, fingers skimming up his cuffs press two fingers into his wrist and Dean suddenly felt, once again, very vulnerable.

“Dean.”

“Hmm.” Castiel leaned back, eyes hooded and lips frowning, and Dean thought something had gone wrong- but then Castiel was back to smiling, stepping out of his space.

And Dean, in his panic (though he will deny that he ever did panic), reached for the man’s wrist and blurted. “Are you pianist? ‘Cause you can play my keys.”

Ah.

Dean never really forgave himself for that one.

But Castiel was back to laughing again, clutching at his sides, eyes so full of warmth and admiration for _Dean_ , that Dean didn’t give a shit that everyone in the room was shooting them dirty looks and even a few suggested they keep their voices down. He was laughing too, and it felt so fucking good because Dean can’t remember the last time he had laughed like that…

So when Dean went back to his hotel that night, Castiel in tow (and both of them giggling like fucking children because there was something so thrilling at being kicked out of a fancy douche bag filled party for not being able to keep quiet, even if your brother was pissed at you for it and you were told _“you certainly won’t be allowed to play here again, Mr. Novak, thank you”_ ) he decided he was going to give Bela a ticket to that museum she wouldn’t shut up about and house sit for Sam and Jess so they can take a proper vacation, because that night, Castiel learned and memorized every note that Dean made, and Dean had found his favorite composer.

**_____**

**:::**

Seven blissful years. Fucking _blissful_. Dean doesn’t use that word lightly.

It was like waking up from a long nap, a splash of cold water on your face after restless sleep.

It was the most refreshing thing in Dean’s life, being with Cas.

Sure, they had fights, where words hurt like a _bitch_ and usually always left Dean aching (and crying, almost always, though he’ll never admit) and getting blackout drunk and pretending he didn’t when he and Cas made up. When that happened, he was never sure where Cas fucked off too. He guessed he just went to stay with his sister Anna.

But that’s only happened 4 times in their last few years together, and it was over shit like family, specifically, John. His father wasn’t too keen on learning his son was with a man, and it sure caused a few fights when he wouldn’t just shut up and leave Cas alone and of course Cas didn’t say a word until john turned on Dean- and that’s when it always turned ugly. 

It ended when John died 4 years back, a freakin’ heart attack, of all things. Dean felt lost at his father’s death, but Cas helped him through it all, even when Dean had been an unresponsive jackass. Dean still misses him, and feels horrendously guilty whenever he’s glad Dad isn’t around to let him know how disappointed he is in his son for his “lifestyle choices”.

It’s old stones, anyways.

Sam and Jess love Cas, they fit together so well and it makes Dean so happy because family is everything to him, and if he couldn’t get approval from John, at least the other two most important people in his life fully embrace Dean and Cas as one.

Jess has a baby on the way, and Sam is filled with so much joy that the guy is almost always smiling, a big dumb shlop that is bursting about his family and how he wants Dean and Cas to be the godparents.

Which brings Dean to where he and Cas are. 

Cas is… beyond words.

Cas is the sun and moon and stars and everything gushy. A goddamn fire that lit Dean, making him realize him that he is gasoline and has only been waiting his life to be set aflame.

Cas makes him feel _alive_.

Being with Castiel… Dean is… so fucking good. No, better than that, Dean is fucking _stupendous_. Absolutely high on happiness. Life is so damn good, for once. He never realized how miserable he was until Castiel came playing his way into his life, one note of No.1 at a time.

It’s Dean’s favorite song, purely for the sentimental reasoning. Dean still doesn’t really give a shit about composers and the fancy stuff, but Cas does, so Dean listens and invests himself in it because it makes Cas happy and that’s all Dean wants. 

Alright, so _maybe_ he does enjoy it. But he’ll never admit it to Sam.

Cas, being the amazing guy he is, learns all of Dean’s favorite songs. He remembers the first time Cas learned a song that Dean mentioned was his favorite. He had been working at the shop extra time when he came home late to the first notes of Carry On Wayward Son came flowing through the front door.

They had sex on the piano that night.

Speaking of piano, Dean is shit at playing.

But Cas wants him to learn, so he sits there for hours with the ever so patient Cas, hands cramped and back hurting, but it’s what Cas wants.

Cas has been teaching him for _years_ , and the best thing he’s got down is Hot Cross Buns, which Cas assures him, is not real song and that he knows Dean can do so much better.

So Dean tries.

And he sucks.

But Cas _loves_ teaching.

So Castiel becomes a piano teacher.

Cas teaches at their small home in the middle of Kansas where they have lived for the last 4 years, not far from Dean’s old childhood house. The house is always filled with music, it’s never quiet. For at least one student is over a day, or Cas is always teaching himself something new.

Dean loves it so much.

He doesn’t like it when life is quiet, he decides. Dean loves it when it’s filled with music. Whether it brings joy, memories, or sadness.

Cas plays Beethoven when he’s upset, and Tchaikovsky when he’s happy. When he’s really happy, especially with Dean, he’ll play some of Dean’s favorite tunes. Which is almost every week.

Yeah, Dean can’t shut up about how happy they are.

Dean knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life with Cas. He knows he’s going to marry Cas, as does he. They’ve talked about it, have a date set and everything, and they decided that Dean is the one who is going to propose, but Dean gets to surprise Cas when he does.

See, the thought of commitment a few years ago, scared the absolute holy hell out of Dean.

But now? He was excited. If being committed means being with your best friend for the rest of your life, Dean is all for it. Dean gets why he hated it back then, and he could just imagine his old self squawking at the thought of now-Dean being the one who suggested marriage in the first place.

But Dean is a big kid now, and he loves Castiel and Castiel loves him.

They’re going to adopt. Dean wants kids, wants more than he’ll ever admit out loud but Cas gets it (because Cas always gets it, Cas knows him so well, maybe even better than Sam and that thought doesn’t scare him anymore). So Cas had laughed, said maybe starting out with one would be good for now, and Dean agrees, so they’ve been looking. But Castiel says that he’s sure he found the one that they’re going to adopt, and he’s going to tell him over dinner tonight. Dean trusts Cas, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that whatever kid Cas pulls up on the internet is going to be their shining star.

God, Dean was going to be a father.

Holy shit.

Fuck yeah.

“Any lessons today?” Dean asks, nudging Cas’s cheek with his nose. They’re wrapped up in their bed, limbs tangled and blankets a mess.

“Charlie.” Cas mumbles, trying to turn away from Dean. Cas isn’t a morning person, even though it’s almost 12 in the afternoon and the sun is sneaking through the blinds. “She has improved impressively.”

“‘Cause she’s got you for a teacher.” Dean snakes his hand to hold Cas’s sharp hip bones. He sighs, not wanting to get up. “Hey babe?”

“Yes?” Is the muffled reply of Cas’s face smooshed in the pillow.

Dean chuckles, smile blinding. “Tea in trade for Lynyrd Skynyrd?”

“Hmm, I will have to think about it.” He lifts his head, hair a wild mess and 5 o'clock shadow making itself known. His eyes are twinkling, mischief buried in his expression.

“Aww, come on.” Dean runs his hand through Cas’s hair, kissing his forehead. Cas looks good like this, relaxed and sleepy. “You love that song.”

“I said that it was pleasant, not that I-”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Dean pouts and once again, it’s something Sam will never know he’s done. “Guess I’ll have to do it myself.”

“You don’t know how-”

“Ye of little faith. Alright Yoda, anything else I should know?”

“You are being a brat.”

“I’ll put that in my notes.”

Cas rolls his eyes, about to bury himself back in the comfort of blankets when Dean noodles up and right on top of him, full weight falling down on Cas.

Cas exhales air loudly. “Dean!”

“Cas!”

“Get off, you’re suffocating me! You oaf!”

“ _Oaf_?” Dean asks, incredulously. “Did you just seriously call me an oaf?”

“ _Dean_!”

“What the hell man? I mean, I’ve heard a lot from your before. Like that one time you called me an assbutt, or when you called me an insufferable-”

Dean doesn’t get to finish, because Cas is bucking him off and using his hands to shove so Dean is propelled off of him and onto the floor. Dean manages to grab Castiel on his way down, yanking him down on top of him when he lands on the floor with the wind knocked out of him.

“Shit.”

“You _are_ insufferable.”

“Aww, thanks babe.”

Cas is leaning over Dean, leg between Dean’s and hand cupping Dean’s cheek. Dean has his arms splayed above him, fingers twitching and he smiles goofily up at Cas.

It’s good like this, when it’s just them. Cas is Cas, and Dean is Dean. No one else but themselves get to see each other like this, so carefree and affectionate. And shit, Dean is one hell of a romantic. And really touchy. He’s _always_ touching Cas. It’s weird when he’s not, and in fact, kind of uncomfortable.

Sam once made a joke that they’re eventually going to be permanently stuck together if they can’t keep their hands off each other for more than a minute. Jess was sure that they were already conjoined.

Dean wishes, mostly for the fact that he’ll get to annoy Cas more.

“You are intolerable.” Cas murmurs, lips lowering.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Cas’s expression shifts, face so soft and warm that Dean aches and his throat is closing up. Cas’s expression is devastating. There’s so much care and fondness in his eyes and Dean feels his own start to sting because he loves this man so much and it’s unbelievable that someone like Cas loves him. That Cas even loves him at all.

But he does, and oh god, he’s not sure what he’d ever do without Cas because no one could ever love Dean like this. Fuck, being loved like this is so intense and Dean couldn’t ever stand to not be loved like this again. It used to scare the absolute shit out of him, now he’s a fool for it.

“I do, Dean.” Cas presses his lips to Dean’s and his heart takes off like the blades of a helicopter and he closes his eyes and slinks his hands behind Cas’s head to grip at his dark hair. He loses himself in the kiss. It holds no heat, no build up, because as much as Dean hates to admit it, he isn’t as young as he used to be and the refractory period is a lot longer than he thought it would be and they sometimes have to plan it out. Doesn’t matter, though, because tonight he knows it’s going to be slow and beautiful and he’ll probably cry just like last time, but no one but Cas and him need to know that.

They stay that way for awhile, until he pushes gently at Cas to ease off so they can get ready to start the day, because a 6 year old foster girl is going to be at their door soon and Dean needs to be at the shop in an hour. So they make a quick breakfast, Dean making Cas’s favorite tea and Cas gives him a sloppy kiss and wanders off to play Simple Man.

The first few notes pour in and Dean sits at the kitchen table with his eyes closed. Cas is so good at playing, and Dean is damn proud.

Cas pours his heart and soul into every note he plays, and Dean hasn’t ever heard him mess up once.

They talked about it for awhile, how Cas could really do something with this and go places, but Cas had only kissed Dean and said that everything he needed was right where they are (and Dean did not choke up, did not).

He hears Cas’s rough voice from the living room where the piano is, the lyrics clear and beautiful. “ _Mama told me, when I was young…_ ”

Dean hums along. He loves it when Cas sings. He doesn’t do it often, says he prefers it when Dean sings for him.

Dean gets up from the table, heading to Cas and only stopping for a second to watch the back of his muscles move as he hits the keys along with his voice. 

Cas loves that piano. Dean bought it as a gift for him when they moved in together, took years of saving and it was worth every penny to see Cas glow the moment he set eyes on it. It’s sleek, black, and on the side there’s a blue the shade of Castiel’s eyes where Dean has had Castiel's name engraved in cursive. Castiel _Winchester_.

And that’s how he first brought up the idea of marriage. Castiel was so fucking happy.

Dean bends to wrap his arms around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. There’s a pause in the verse where Cas says “Your chin is digging into my shoulder.”

Dean laughs and kisses Cas’s cheek, hands rubbing at his belly. He hums in his ear and when the song is over, Cas barely pauses to switch to the next. Dean knows this one, it’s Cas’s personal favorite.

He plays it when he’s really, really, _really_ happy.

And it’s hilarious, because it’s from Finding fucking Nemo.

_“It’s a heart-warming movie that proves that nothing can keep those who love each other apart, a story where a father does everything in his power to find his son while also gaining a new member of family who will also do anything for them both.”_

_“Yeah, Cas, my favorite part is ‘fish are friends, not food’.”_

_“I am not surprised your favorite quote involves food.”_

“What’s on your mind, Cas?” He murmurs in his ear.

“I think you will love who I have found. I’ll call Anna over for dinner at the earliest convenience. Gabe is in town, so he’ll come too. We can call Sam and Jess whenever you would like to convey the news.”

“Sounds great.” Dean grins. “Hey, burgers tonight, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel smiles up at him. “And pie.”

“Oh,” Dean moans, “Hell yeah.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you love pie more than me.”

Dean grins cheekily. “Well…”

Cas lifts an eyebrow, stopping the theme of Finding Nemo when there is a knock on the door. “That would be Charlie.”

“Ah! That’s my girl.” Charlie is his definite favorite, and being honest, Dean’s going to nudge the idea of adopting her quite soon after he finds out who they’re going to take in first. Because even though Cas said one was a good start, they both love Charlie and she’s always over here anyways and alright yeah Dean loves her a lot and his chest gets tight at the thought of him being able to call her their kid. She’s smart, really smart, and a fun fireball. Whenever she and Cas finish up early, he shows her the wonder of Star Wars and Alien and helps her mess around with computers.

Of course, Cas doesn’t need to know about Alien, he would kill Dean for letting her watch that.

“You keep playing, I’ll go get the door.”

When he invites her in, she barrels into him, hair like fire trailing behind as she wraps herself around him. He laughs and squeezes her shoulders, talking to the Foster staff at the door who relays what time she will be back to pick up Charlie and he nods and says “yeah” when necessary and shuts the door as quick as he can so he can pick up Charlie and spin her around.

“And how’s my favorite?”

Charlie bursts into giggles, cheeks as red as her hair. She screeches, happy when Dean swings her before hosting her on his hip.

“Good.” She says, clinging to his arm and hair. “You said to watch Star Trek and I did.”

Dean ruffles her hair and says yeah, because he did, and he’s glad someone is educating themselves on the classics and enjoying it. It isn’t really Cas’s thing, but Cas watches stuff like that with him because it makes Dean happy and so he can get those references Dean likes to make so much.

When they reach the room Cas is at, she yanks part of his hair out to get down and reach Cas. Dean protests loudly and Cas opens his arms to hug her, a smile so bright that Dean just wants to swoop him up too.

So he does.

Ignoring the part of his head that aches where his hair was ripped out, he grabs Castiel by the waist and Charlie from underneath her arms and yanks them up. They’re both startled and they fumble and nearly trip when Dean tries spinning them around.

They’re laughing, all breathless hiccups and crinkled eyes. And Dean is just so fucking happy that he squeezes them all tight and his heart just bursts with the feeling of “family” before he lets them go, sitting himself next to Castiel when he and Charlie sit on the piano bench together.

Charlie and Cas share a secretive look when he sits down next to them, and Dean doesn’t ask because they’ll tell him what that was about eventually, they always do. They’ve just been extra sneaky as of late.

“Charlie,” Cas says, holding her gaze. “Have you ever seen Dean play?”

He barks a laugh. “Hey now, don’t embarrass me in front of the little lady.”

“Dean! Play!” Charlie demands, her bright eyes popping out from underneath her bangs.

Dean can’t really say no to that, good argument.

“Alright, you got me.” He winks at Cas. “Any special requests?”

“I was just playing the theme from Finding Nemo, would you perhaps like to hear that?”

“Yes! Fishy song!” Charlie exclaims, gummy smile.

“Follow my lead, Dean.” Cas kisses Dean’s cheek and begins to play the first few notes, which Dean manages to hit the first one before he’s already forgotten the rest.

“Uh.”

“Try again.”

So he does, he tries and tries and Charlie is rolling her eyes at him and even tries to help, because at this point, she knows how to do it with how many times Castiel has gone over it.

So, Dean doesn't have a knack for instruments. That’s okay, he thinks. Castiel can play enough for him. He tells him that.

“You play enough for the both of us. Why do I need to play? I’ll always have you around.” He looks over him to grin at Charlie. “And if not, I got Char here.” Honestly, the only reason why Dean doesn’t try harder is because he loves to hear Cas play, loves to watch him, and he loves the effort Cas puts into trying to teach Dean. It makes him feel good. The piano, it’s a Cas thing, and there’s something special about the relationship Cas has with music, with the keys he strikes. It’s something that makes Dean feel fuzzy so he plays the part of being musically boned and lets Cas take the spotlight. Because he would rather just sit and watch Cas play all day.

Castiel hums, placing his hands over Dean's. “Under unexpected events, both Charlie and I have disappeared and now you must play the entirety of this song if you ever want us to return and to know who our starringchild is.” He gets Dean to follow his hands, and Dean is too mesmerized by the feel of them to pay attention to what he is suppose to be doing.

“Aww, that’s just cruel.”

Cas smirks, kissing Dean. “You have work.”

“So do you.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, I’m off.” He gets up, squeezing Cas’s hand and kissing him once again. He kisses Charlie on the head, giving a mock bow and announcing “M’lady, farewell, my Queen.”

Charlie grins and it just as beautiful as the sun. “Handmaiden!”

Dean’s grin falters and he grabs his heart in mock-pain. “A _handmaiden_?”

Cas rolls his eyes, dragging Char’s attention back to him. “We might as well begin with this song. I will play, and you will play along. If you get lost or confused, you may stop me and we will walk through it.” Cas turns to look over his shoulder, smiling softly. “Be safe, goodbye, Dean.”

Dean suddenly feels sick.

His smile falters and a sense of _wrong_ fills his stomach at Cas’s words.

Dean feels ridiculous. Cas says that to him _everyday_. It’s never bothered him before.

But it does now. “Yeah…” He drinks up the sight of them both, feeling queasy. “Have fun, you two.”

Cas and Charlie both say their goodbyes, and Dean feels stupid for whatever the hell that was back there. He nears the front door when the sounds of the piano fill the air and he instantly feels better. Music means good, sound is a good thing. He loves it, it means Cas, and sometimes it means Charlie.

He smiles, walking out the door humming to the theme of Finding Nemo while swinging his keys. If before work he stops by the pet store to see if they have any Clownfish or Blue Tang for sale, that’s his business, until he later on takes Cas. Because Cas has given him love, life and music, and Cas enjoys any kinds of gestures, even if it's buying two fish from a movie he loves.

Dumb Cas and his angel like face, who Dean is helplessly in love with. Dumb soon-to-be Castiel _Winchester_ and his even dumber soon-to-be husband Dean Winchester.

Yeah, that’s good. Really good. Makes Dean feel light on his feet good. He can’t wait to hear Tchaikovsky when they walk the aisle, maybe he’ll try harder and learn how to play No. 5, for him and Cas. Maybe surprise him on their honeymoon.

He decides he will.

**_____**

**:::**

Dean knows there’s something wrong the moment he steps through the door.

He knows because it’s quiet.

It’s never quiet.

The absence of music instantly makes Dean’s stomach drop. There’s always music when he comes home. _Always_. Cas let’s him know if he won’t be around to play, which is rare. He can’t really remember when he didn’t come home to sounds of the piano.

“Cas?” He calls out, shoving the keys into the pocket of his work uniform. He’s still covered in grease, smelling like car exhaust and sweat.

Cas should be home, because he’s off work early. It’s only 7, he said dinner would be on the table when he was home. Well, alright, Dean lied, he’s late, he was suppose to be back by 6 (he even swung a text to let Cas know he wasn’t going to make it on time) but work got super busy with night drivers and that’s besides the point.

The air is lacking the smell of food.

Dean has had an off feeling all day, since he said bye to Cas. It only intensifies now. He shrugged it off, diving into work to distract himself and make the time pass faster. He was pretty good at distracting himself.

Dean checks out the house, nothing really out of place, besides Cas not being here. He’s at the point of panic when he’s passing through the living room once again where he catches Charlie’s bright blue bag full of piano sheets on the couch.

Which doesn’t make sense because Charlie’s class ended at 3 so her stuff shouldn’t be here. So he picks it up, carrying it with him as he goes back into the kitchen to get to the garage to see if Cas’s car is here.

It’s with relief that he sees a note taped to the fridge, wrinkle free and Cas’s delicate hand writing on it. He feels the tight ball of worry unwind itself slowly as he picks up the note.

_Dean, Charlie is having dinner with us tonight._

_I have noticed that we are out of whip cream for the pie, we have gone to the store and should be back soon._

_-Cas_

_P.S. do not touch the pie filling._

And Dean grins, because at the end of the note is a scribble of 3 stick figures, obviously drawn from Charlie. It has Charlie in the middle, Cas and Dean holding her hands on either side of her. There’s marks of green for grass and hearts all over with the letters “ _F A M I E L E_ ” on top. Dean interprets it as what it is, family.

And it suddenly hits him.

He laughs, of course. Charlie. It’s _Charlie_.

He knows, without a doubt, that Cas has chosen Charlie. It explains why Cas has been so sneaky as of late, as has Charlie. Charlie has been in on this. Both of them.

Charlie is going to be _their child_.

And Dean feels giddy. Holy shit.

Fucking Cas.

They were going to have a family.

His first instinct is to call Sammy to tell him the news, but then he realizes he’s left his phone in his car. So he jogs back out to the Impala to search for it in the back of the seats.

He wonders how long Cas and Charlie have been gone for when he gets his phone and wiggles out of the car. He’ll want to be around when he calls Sam and Jess, so Dean decides he’ll wait instead. Man, they’re going to be so pumped. They’ve met Charlie before, and she charmed both of them off their feet. He turns on his phone to text Cas to let him know he’s home when his phone starts going haywire.

It buzzes at least 30 times 5 seconds after it powers on, informing him that he has missed calls and texts from Gabe, Anna and even stranger, Cas’s older brothers Balthazar and Lucifer in the last 20 minutes. He’s just missed their last calls by 3 minutes, last one being from Gabe.

Dean feels sick again.

He can hear his breathing shudder and shake, and feel his hands start to tremble. The feeling of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , is back full force.

Fuck. Dean fumbles as he hits “call back”, not paying attention to which sibling he’s currently ringing. He’s gripping the phone so tight, he can hear the plastic creaking in his hand.

It rings for only a moment before he hears Gabe’s quiet “Dean-”

That’s as far as it goes before headlights make themselves visible down the street, catching Dean’s eye. For a moment, he is relieved. It’s not too dark out, but the car isn’t immediately recognizable with the lighting. But it’s a car, and Dean clings on to hysterical relief because who else would be driving into their cul-de-sac? The neighbors are all home, and they don’t get many visitors. So it’s gotta be Cas and Charlie.

But it’s not.

He can feel his heart race faster and faster when the car pulls up to the house, and Dean can’t process anything Gabe is saying into his ear when he realizes it’s a police cruiser parking on the curb of his house.

So, there Dean stands, in a greasy jumpsuit, at 7:23 p.m., May 30th, phone clutched to his chest as an Officer who introduces herself as Jody says to him _“Dean Winchester? My deepest condolences…”_

**_____**

**:::**

Dean hates silence.

Silence means he’s alone.

Dean hates being alone.

But he’s always alone now, and it’s kinda his fault.

Sam and Jess offered their home to him, a place to stay and heal. When Dean said no, Sam offered himself to stay with Dean for a few months, but Dean couldn’t accept that. Jess’s baby is due soon and Sam is going to become a dad and they need Sam more than Dean does.

Kinda.

But Dean would never do that to Jess, so he clapped Sam on the back and gave him the biggest smile he could muster and said that he’s fine, he’s got work to keep him busy.

Not really.

He got paid time off from Bobby, who said; _“You ever need anything, you call me. I don’t care if it’s to take a year off work or because your car’s stuck in the mud or you just need a beer. Whatever.”_

So he thanked Bobby and said he’s fine and he goes home.

Kinda.

He got a motel at the edge of town, a pretty decent one with working water and television. He hasn’t set foot in his home since he spoke to Officer Jody.

He wishes he could say that he doesn’t remember much of that night, that it all blurred together, but he does. In perfect clarity.

It’s easily the longest night of Dean’s life, and the fucking worse.

He had followed the cruiser all the way to the hospital, completely numb and brain on halt.

If the situation had been better, Dean would have clapped himself on the back for being able to keep it together before he walked into Castiel and Charlie’s shared room and seeing their still and bloodied bodies on the hospital beds.

Yeah.

A car crash.

Really? A freakin’ car crash? Of course. What else would it be?

Of course his whole fucking life is ripped away from him by a Dodge Ram going 20 over the speed limit and slamming on their side while Cas is making a turn. All over a fucking run to the grocery store for whipped cream.

Of course they had suffered. Because apparently, Dean is a masochist, and he asked if they made it to the hospital.

They did.

Castiel had severe brain damage and internal bleeding, the whole left side of his body was left crippled. Charlie was just as bad, a huge gash that took up the entirety of where the left side of her face should be.

Dean took in every single detail the moment he stepped through that door.

It’s all he can see now.

All he can see is Charlie’s missing face, her chest caved in from broken ribs. All he can see is how small she is. He can only see Cas’s blue, chapped lips. All he can see is his matted, bloody hair where they couldn’t completely wash it out. He can only see the way his body bends in unnatural ways, chest at an awkward angle because his spine was broken. He just sees his glassy eyes when Dean had lifted his eyelids to get Cas to look at him.

He screamed a lot, he doesn’t really remember all what he said.

But he remembers falling, crumpled just like Cas’s body, right at the edge of the bed. He remembers clinging onto Cas, touching him everywhere, gagging when he felt the cool chill in return. He remembers kissing Cas’s dry, cold, cold lips, begging _“Hey, baby? Please wake up. You promised me pie. Yeah? Come on, baby. Just look at me.”_

He remembers his hysteria taking complete hold of him when he lifted Cas’s eyelids, only to see pale and lifeless blue.

Just that morning, that same blue was looking at Dean like he was the most important thing in the whole goddamn world.

Now they’re unresponsive and stared straight through Dean like he was nothing.

Dean had clutched at Cas’s body, voice cracking as he said _“Cas? Come on, babe. You can’t leave me here.”_ He could barely speak, voice pitching erratically and body trembling. _“Castiel, please. Cas, Cas. I know it’s Charlie. I know you want Charlie. We’re suppose to take her in, remember? That’s what you wanted to tell me. Baby, please.”_

But Charlie’s dead. On the other side of Cas, small and pale.

He’d lost his daughter.

Oh god.

Dean broke then. Well, and truly, broke.

They’d given him some time alone to sob over Cas and Charlie. He stayed there for what seemed like hours, just clutching at them both and begging them with a hoarse voice to come back. By the time Gabe and Anna came in, Dean’s voice was raw and his throat ached just as much as his heart.

He couldn’t look at Cas’s family, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cas and Charlie’s… bodies.

_Bodies._

He had Castiel caged with his arms, hovering above his face, protecting him from the eyes of everyone else. Here, it was their own little world.

A world where Cas would roll his eyes at Dean, run his fingers through his hair and pull him down for a kiss, maybe make a snarky quip. Yeah.

Not a world where he’s dead and Dean is shaking because the man he loves more than anything else in the goddamn world is still beneath his arms, without so much as a proper goodbye.

He didn’t get to say goodbye. He didn’t get to hold Cas and tell him how much he loved him. Fucking hell, he didn’t get a chance. Cas was just… gone.

Cas was gone.

Castiel _Novak_ was gone.

They were suppose to marry.

 _“Oh god, I love you.”_ He had said, voice breaking, ignoring Anna coming up behind him. _“I love you so much. Please don’t leave me, please don’t. Just don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone.”_ He hadn’t even tried to hold back the sob that ripped through him. _“I can’t be alone, I can’t. Please don’t leave me. Castiel. I need you.”_

And then he had fallen, burying his face into Castiel’s neck and crying so hard that Gabe had called a nurse because Dean couldn’t breathe -and wasn’t that just funny that he literally can’t breathe without Cas- but he had only shoved at whoever tried to break him away from Cas because Cas still smelled like Cas, honey and cinnamon because Cas put that shit in almost everything and Dean couldn’t leave him, could not be alone. He couldn’t.

Dean was right.

He can’t be alone.

Alone means silence. Silence means alone.

Which means Dean has his thoughts to himself.

They’re not nice thoughts.

But he’s drunk most of the time, anyways.

The funeral was small, family and friends. Conjoined with Charlie’s, there were a few foster staff from the home she lived in and a few of Charlie’s friends who were old enough to understood what happened to Charlie that attended.

It was a nice day.

Castiel liked nice days, with sun and cool air. He would have liked that day.

A lot of people had come up to Dean, offering their help and pity.

Dean hated it.

So he hid, naturally.

After Cas and Charlie were lowered in the ground, Dean couldn’t take it anymore and fucked off to the church down the road where the funeral party was being hosted. Surely anyone wouldn’t mind if he was early.

Thankfully, he had it in mind to bring his own beverage, and locked himself in some random back room that took him 15 minutes to find.

So that’s how Sam found him, drunk and sobbing in some dusty corner, a complete and utter fucking mess.

 _“Come on, Dean. He wouldn’t want this.”_ Sam had murmured, hoisting Dean up and pressing him to his chest. He’d cradled Dean’s head with his hands, and in that moment Dean didn’t care that he wasn’t suppose to be doing that, being comforted by Sam, because he’s suppose to be strong and it’s _his_ job to comfort.

 _“He’s dead, he doesn’t get a say in what I do.”_ He had slurred back, too drunk and heartbroken to really care what slipped out.

Sam didn’t say anything more.

He went home that night and got so drunk that he woke up in his own vomit and sweat, crammed into the motel bathtub.

A lot of nights were like that. The silence always too much for him to bear.

It’s been almost a month since Cas and Charlie have been dead, and today’s the day he’s putting on his big boy pants and finally going home.

So he’s standing outside the door, hands shaking and breathing fast. There are casseroles that smell like old ass sitting out front of his porch, no doubt pity food from the neighbors. Some other stuff too, like cards and gifts from Cas’s students. There’s a bouquet of dead flowers on the welcome mat that were no doubt beautiful and bright when they were first placed here.

Dean knows Cas wouldn’t want him to leave this all out here, but Cas isn’t around. So yeah, fuck him.

Dean stands there for a long time, hand holding onto the door knob tight until he throws caution to the wind and unlocks the door without thinking and slamming the door open.

It’s all the same, all exactly the same. Nothing is out of place, the air only slightly stale. Cas’s shoes are placed neatly next to Dean’s by the door, his trench coat strewn across the back of the living room chair. Charlie’s bag is on the couch, and next to it is the note Cas left him.

It’s quiet.

That’s all Dean can think about.

He can’t think about how Cas’s stuff is right there, that Charlie’s bright backpack is so close. He can’t think about how the last thing Cas ever said to him was only a few steps away.

All he can think about how fucking quiet it is.

Oh god.

It’s maddening, and Dean can feel his grip on his sanity falling right through the fucking floor. Because it’s quiet and it’s not suppose to be- there’s supposed to be music. There’s supposed to be keys playing.

He’s a fucking wreck and he hasn’t even been in here for 5 minutes.

Before he knows it, he’s stumbling to the piano, eyes blurry and he can hear his breathing is harsh. It’s the only sound and he hates it-

He’s sitting on the piano bench, fingers shakily skimming the cover over the keys, a trail of fingerprints being left through a fine layer of dust.

The piano is never dusty. Cas makes sure to clean it everyday.

He’s lifting the cover, numbly staring down at the white keys.

He tries to remember.

The first note he plays is loud to his ears and he feels something in him break all over again.

He begins to hit random keys, trying to remember something… _anything_ that Cas tried to teach him.

He tries to remember the stupid theme to Finding Dory, because it’s Cas’s favorite. But all he can remember is the feel of Castiel’s hands on his own and he begins to shake. He tries to play Wayward Son, even Don’t Stop Believing, but he can’t. He remembers that Cas liked to play Mozart, but when he hits the keys it just doesn’t sound right.

Now Dean is on the verge of an anxiety attack, trying desperately to just fucking play a song.

He can barely see with all the tears blurring his eyes, and he remembers Piano Concerto No. 5. Remembers how Cas played it. Dean strikes at a few of the keys desperately, but it just isn’t _right_.

Dean just can’t fucking remember. He can’t do it.

Dean is hitting more keys, just trying to get any noise at this point that sounds like something Cas would play. He’s sobbing so hard now that his hands are barely making a sound on the piano because he barely has the strength to put any force into it, but he keeps trying because that’s what Cas wants, he wants Dean to keep trying because he knows Dean can do it- but Cas isn’t around. No one is going to believe in him like Cas. No one is going to love Dean like that ever again. No one is going to love him. _He_ is never going to love like that again.

He’s never going to kiss Cas’s lips again, or run his fingers through his hair. He’s never going to hear another one of his snarky comments or deep laugh when Dean does something stupid. Dean is never going to hear him complain about global warming or go hiking with him to look at wild bees. Dean is never going to wake up with Cas curled around him, snoring in his ear. He’s never going to be laid out bare, Cas’s fingers playing him just like the piano, full of want and love in his eyes.

He’s never going to have that again.

Cas is gone. _Gone_.

Dean falls on the keys where they make a horrid out-of-tune noise, and for a moment Dean isn’t sure if it was him or the keys, nails digging into the wood of the piano and he loses himself.

The silence is his only comfort. It’s maddening, and Dean has never yearned for the play of Castiel’s piano before so much in his life.

But he just can’t fucking do it. He can’t play. He can’t remember. He can’t even do one last thing for Castiel.

The silence is all he has now.

So he lets it take him.

**_____**

**:::**

Dean can’t remember the last time he looked in the mirror. He understands why he never did.

He’s got all his shit packed up, stored in the trunk and the back seats. It’s not much, his clothes, toothbrush and shit like that, and even some of Cas’s old trinkets. He’s even got Charlie’s bag with him.

He’s standing outside of the driver’s door, hand stopped midway towards the handle where he catches his own reflection in the window.

He looks _awful_.

His face is thinner, cheeks more prominent and face hollow, showing just how much Dean hasn’t been eating. His hair is long and sticking out in random places. There’s dark bags underneath his eyes, and Dean can only stare into his own eyes for so long because they’re so fucking empty- _lifeless_ \- like Cas’s-

He opens the door with more force than necessary.

He’s going to avoid mirrors from now on, he decides.

He’s left a note for Anna in the house, since she’s coming by this weekend to swing in and grab some of Cas’s stuff. She doesn’t know that Dean is leaving, though.

No one does.

He can’t do it. He can’t be left alone in that house anymore with so many memories and nothing but silence.

His life used to be so beautiful, so full of music and love and now Dean has none of it and he’s not handling it well. Doesn’t know how to.

But he does know that he can’t stay any longer.

The note simply says that he’s okay, he’s just going away for awhile. Anna can have everything inside and do whatever she wants with the house. He asks Anna to call Sam and let him know he’s okay, and that he’s sorry. He just needs some time.

Dean hates himself even fucking more for leaving his brother like this, but he can’t do much else.

Dean’s already slightly tipsy, but he knows he can handle being out on the road. It stings to think about how Cas would be really disappointed in him right now.

Dean’s in the car, backing out and driving away without sparing a glance to home, to the place he used to love so much. It’s with cruel intent that he plays the line of Piano Concerto No.1 where he met Cas over and over again in his head.

Maybe one day Dean’s life will be filled with music again, but not now, or any day soon. For now he grieves for his lost love and his lost daughter. He grieves for everything he’s lost and will never have again, and he drives.

Once again, there is only silence.

**_____**

**:::**

**Author's Note:**

> sorry


End file.
